Blue Afternoons
by beachLEMON
Summary: Tristan seeks help from an old friend after his daughter's life changes permanently. R. TristanRory.
1. Defiantly His

Disclaimer: I don't own any Gilmore Girls characters, plot lines, settings except those that I make up.

Dedicated to: Papa

Chapter One: **Defiantly His**

It was one of those tolerable days where even the corniest music sounded decent to the ears. The sun was shining vehemently down upon the paved, gray cemented lots of the town, but it was still reasonably cheery outside. Some people would say the sun would be the _reason_ it was cheery outside. Bobbey disagreed.

Truly, she took her father's car in the midst of a lucky span solitude to get away from the house and get inside a dark, secluded theatre to watch a newly released horror picture. She ended up walking out before the first scare rattled the audience.

Robin Tally DuGrey had never been one to do anything rash or exceptionally rebellious. Her grades proved that she spent most of her time in the shelter and confines of four walls experiencing books and knowledge rather than hands-on life.

Walking to her car, she listened to her shoes squeak with every step she took as her socks rubbed up against the worn heel of her tennis shoes.

She didn't know why she took her car. Of course, she knew _why_ at the time, but it wasn't like she'd been dying to see an English remake of a Japanese film. She wanted to get out of the house, out of the still seclusion that was her calm room, calm kitchen, humid living room and claustrophobic halls. And that was ironic because her house was larger than a good percentage of her nation.

Turning on the ignition, Bobbey adjusted the rear-view mirror and stared at the striped surface of the car's back window.

She knew why her subconscious couldn't stay still, couldn't sit down and study for the next math test she was wearily expecting that Monday. She knew why she took her father's new BMW even though she didn't even have an instructed driving lesson yet.

She also knew that running—or driving—away from the problem wouldn't do her any progress, and the smart thing that had to be done would have to be in the presence of her father.

She backed out of her parking space cautiously.

The smart thing to do.

------------

"Do anything while I was away?" Tristan DuGrey inquired, distractedly leafing through the coupon books and bills that made up his total day's mail. His eyes strayed to his nearly stoic, pensive statue excuse of a daughter.

She looked at him blankly.

"Homework." She paused. "Not much else to do. Study, study, study, right?"

He licked his bottom lip. "Nothing? Didn't call any friends, invite anybody over?"

_"No_, father, I didn't. Just like I said before, I did _homework."_

Dropping the mail on the counter with a satisfying slap, Tristan leaned his palms against the kitchen counter as he attempted to catch Bobbey's eye.

"Not that you're not good at it, but you're taking the whole teenage angst rebellion thing _entirely _too far, Robin," he observed, sighing at the insulted glint in her eyes combined with her refusal to speak. "We used to talk."

She looked up at her blond-haired father figure and curled her lip in defiant disgust.

"We never talked, dear father, because if we had, you'd know that your daughter has never taken any teenage angst or rebellion to _any_ sort of abnormal level. I was a perfect little angel. I was a parent's dream. When you went on your stupid business trips, I never had parties. I rented a movie at worst and ordered pizza. I never defied you." She slipped off the kitchen stool and headed upstairs. "And it's _Bobbey_. Mom named me Robin."

Tristan expelled a breath and hung his head at the difficulty of being a parent. Everyday was an uphill rock climb and that was on the good day. Without murky waters and troublesome fronts ahead. He had a feeling his rock climbing skills weren't going to be up to par for what emblematic troubled waters had promised.

"What's this about?" Tristan yelled up to his daughter after skipping a beat and following her upstairs. "You were fine this morning before I left for work and now what? You suddenly have a reason for this attitude?"

Bobbey stopped at her door and bore an expression of disgust. "How do you know that I was _fine_ this morning? You barely said good morning before you high-tailed off to your precious office. You know nothing about me."

Tristan's eyes couldn't help but roll toward the ceiling.

"Of course. _Of course_ I don't know a thing about you. I'm only your father who lives with you and provides for you by giving you food and shelter everyday of the week. And because I have to attend a _job_ to make money for those provisions, I suddenly don't _know_ you? Your logic does not resemble our normal, human logic, Robin, I must say."

"I can't believe you!" Bobbey's voice heightened. "Where do you get this shit? Dr. Phil? 'I have to provide for you, why do you resent me for working?' This isn't _providing_ anymore. This is your upper white class, must-keep-up-with-the-rich-old-Joneses complex you've had going for you since I can remember. This isn't about providing, because if it was, we could have _provided_ for, like, _nine_ third world countries right now."

Tristan's eyes hardened. "So it's my fault for wanting you to have an above-average lifestyle, so you could be comfortable?"

Bobbey snorted.

"That's it, I've heard enough. I don't need that look, Robin. I don't know if you're on your..." he waved his hand dismissively, trying to avoid saying the term, "...monthly cycle, but I expect that tone of voice to _drastically_ change for the better the next time I see you." He turned, heading down the stairs.

"I not on my 'um, um, monthly cycle,'" Bobbey blurted out before she thought about it, "and I won't be for quite some time because I'm pregnant. So whatever tone of voice I have, it's not going to change and you're just going to have to get used to it for next nine months and probably after that since I'll go insane carrying for whatever it is will come out of me."

Tristan stopped cold. Turning, his face seemed to hold no color. After a period of time Bobbey could not have measured, her father pressed the back of his hand to his mouth.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, the words muffled by his hands. He removed his hand. "How long?"

Bobbey rolled her eyes. "Nine months, I hear."

"How. Long."

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders in defeat. "Three or four weeks?"

"Is that a question or an answer?" Tristan inquired in a dead voice.

"It's an answer."

He nodded once. "So. So you've taken a pregnancy test."

Bobbey thought of including more sarcasm, but the relief of revealing her secret caused her extreme fatigue and distress from playing any more games. "Yeah."

"One?"

She rubbed her eyes. "Four."

"And..."

"And four out of four is pretty convincing."

Tristan leaned back against the wall and slid down, sitting awkwardly on the stairs. He stared straight ahead with Bobbey sneaking cautious glances at him, expecting him to blow up at any moment.

"You had sex?"

Bobbey closed her eyes rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly hating her father a fraction less than before and wondering how deep this really cut him.

"You had sex," he repeated. "In this house."

"Not in this house," Bobbey corrected.

"You had sex," Tristan continued as though he'd never heard her. "With whom?"

Bobbey cleared her throat. "You don't know him."

"I'm going to. I'm going to very, very soon." He continued staring before finally bringing his gaze to his daughter. "You had sex with this... person. Surely you can introduce him to your father."

"Dad. Stop," Bobbey shook her head, leaning her back against the wall and folding her arms across her chest. "You're..." She expelled a breath. "You're lucky I even told you. I—I wasn't going to. I haven't told him yet either so if I tell you who he is and you go over there making death threats, it won't even be justified." She pursed her lips. "At least until he knows about it."

Tristan pondered her words. "You're my daughter."

Bobbey inhaled, a tear running down her cheek. "I know."

"How is my _daughter_ going to have another child?"

She wiped her eyes. "I know."


	2. Don't Know Your Face

Okay, so as soon as I posted _just_ chapter one, I realized I was a complete idiot. I mean, I say that the story is Rory/Tristan and all I put up there is Tristan's interaction with his daughter. So here's something for you guys to hold onto until the actual romance blooms and everything, around the handful that is Robin DuGrey.

Chapter Two: **Don't Know Your Face**

Tristan stared at the ceiling of his calm, shadowed bedroom and thought of all the girls he may or may not have impregnated during his time in high school. He thought of the tears they shed as soon as the saw that stupid pink line appear yet again on their umpteenth pregnancy test or their subconscious gesture of rubbing a hand over their stomachs while wondering how they were ever going to give and support life to another human being without losing their own.

And somehow, that all seemed less severe than having his own Robin be with-child in the next room, subconsciously rubbing her stomach and wracking her brains for ideas of how she was going to support that child and what she was going to do when her dad finally came to his senses and stopped the whole calm charade he seemed to have going.

Sitting up, the covers lodged the bulk of themselves around his waist as he groped around for the bottle of ibuprofen that turned out to be empty.

Sighing, exhausted but by no means prepared for sleep, Tristan rubbed his aching eyes and reached for the phone.

-- -- -- --

"Oh, my _God_, mom, will you leave it alone? You'd think with Luke thre to control you somewhat you'd drop this habit of pestering me at four in the morning but _sure enough_--"

"I'm... not Lorelai," a hesitant voice replied.

Rory's eyebrows drew together in stark realization.

"Tristan?" her tongue pronounced with a fuzzy, sleepy undertone. Readjusting her eyes to the dark of her room, she glanced at the clock, though she knew she was a mere few hours away from having to get up for work.

"I'm sorry I woke you. I--I don't even know I did at four in the morning, I'm such a jerk," he reprimanded as he recognized the exhaustion in his conversationalist's voice. "I'll call you back later. In the day time. Promise."

"Wait," Rory sat up, shouldering the phone and pressing it to her left ear. "Is everything okay? You sound... Well, not good is definitely a start."

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"Not good really doesn't begin to describe it, but if I began to describe it, you would be getting about as much rest as I am these days and that's no good for either of us," he replied. "I'm sorry, Ror. Go back to sleep."

"No, Tristan," Rory switched ears with the phone, "you didn't call me to tell me to go back to sleep. What's up?"

"I'll explain later, Ror," he evaded.

"Over lunch, then," Rory suggested, glancing at the dim calendar, slightly lit by the moon filtering through her bedroom curtains. "Tomorrow. Meet me at Shakyamuni's at two."

Tristan sighed. "You don't give up. Should've remembered."

"Yes, well, my stubborn side is most prominent from three to five am," she deadpanned.

"I must be losing my touch because your prime time stubbornness doesn't seem to differ too much from this one," Tristan replied with a small, hollow chuckle. She creased her forehead, wondering what could be wrong that she could sense his despair over the telephone.

"We'll have to work on that touch of yours," she replied cautiously. She could almost hear him smile.

"Good night, Rory."

She bit her lip. "Good night, Tristan."

-- -- -- -- --

She could see the Shakyamuni's glaring, fluorescent sign above the cookery seeking her out from across the parking lot, tempting her to come inside the warm, fragrant restaurant from the November chill. Clutching her purse to her side, she locked her car and started toward the entrance, suddenly very aware of the last time she'd seen Tristan.

_"It's going to be so easy for me to jump to conclusions right about now, granted our provocative position, so I'm just going to wait for you to cut in at any moment and tell me that I'm wrong and that nothing happened." Rory shut her eyes and wrapped the cool sheet more tightly around her nude body._

_She heard a shuffling next to her, on the other side of the bed._

_"Any time now," Rory prompted with substantially less conviction to her voice, sliding further down under the covers in shame. "Tristan..."_

_She heard the door shut in response and took it as her opportunity to think through her next step, out of this mess and out of this apartment. She combed a hand through her hair and rolled onto her stomach, muffling her face in the pillow as she let out a long-awaited scream._

_Seconds passed, blurring into minutes and the only sound Rory took mild comfort in the was the sound of Tristan's shower, for its constant, lulling drumming if not for its literal cleansing of the night that never should have happened. Licking her lips, she rolled back onto her back and sighed, glancing at the digital clock on the night table. _

_"It's only nine," she heard a voice announce as the bathroom lock clicked open, a towel-clad Tristan emerging from the steamy shower. "You don't have another class for a couple of hours."_

_Rory closed her eyes. "Great."_

_She heard him open a drawer of an armoire before sighing. "You know, I want to tell you it didn't happen, Gilmore..."_

_Rory's eyes snapped open as she snorted. "No, you don't. Tristan, that has to be the least convincing thing I've ever head you say. You--you'll probably add this to your little black book of conquests, that you nailed Mary Gilmore and whoop-tee-doo, you did it. Drunken stupor upon me or not."_

_Tristan shut the drawer with a loud clank. "Really? That's what you think?" His voice held an edge to it it'd been lacking before._

_Sitting up, wrapping the sheet fully around her body, Rory expelled a breath. Sauntering over to the bathroom, Rory put a hand on the bathroom knob. "That's what I know."_

_"Of course you do, Rory. Because you weren't _throwing yourself_ at me last night," he challenged, stopping her in her tracks to the bathtub. "I se_duce_d you."_

_She turned around, eyes wide with insistence. "I don't _know_ what I did last night, Tristan. That's the point! I don't remember--which is one of the primary reasons I'm not all that great friends with Jack Daniels. But you do, you remember what the hell happened last night so you _must_ have been somewhat conscious of what you were doing." She opened her mouth to continue, but decided that there was enough blame in the sentence without need for addition, she closed it._

_"So I should've stopped you and I should've stopped myself and put you to sleep on the couch, no matter how insistent you were, being the prince charming you want everyone to be," he listed off in a condescending voice before gaining back his own. "I was drunk too, you know. And you were _pretty _convincing, if you really want to know." She glared at his faint allusion to a leer._

_"But you could've stopped it! If you didn't think it was funny and some kind of victory that I wanted to have sex with you, you could've stopped it!"_

_"Rory, I _don't_ want to have sex with you!" Silence befell the room. "And I wish I'd stopped it, I do," he added, rubbing a temple. Seeing Rory's surprisingly hurt, but mostly stoic expression caused him to sigh and approach her, though she immediately recoiled. "I didn't mean... I meant..." He stopped. "I meant that I wouldn't want to have sex with you when you're like that, Rory. I wouldn't want to have sex with you when we're both drunk and you're prone to come onto a fire hydrant, given the opportunity. I'd want your consent, your _sober_ consent." He walked to toward the bedroom door, intent on giving the kitchen a visit. "I'm not proud of what happened, Rory. I just want you to know that in my mind I'm not giddy, doing the fucking Macarena because I screwed the girl who was too shit-faced to differentiate a dog from an airplane."_

_As the door shut behind him, Rory's entire muscle strength gave out, leaving her to lean against the bathroom counter, letting out a deep, held breath. She was perturbed, and scared, and confused, and ashamed. But somehow Tristan's words soothed her._

Hello, I'm, uh... I'm meeting a friend here. By the name of DuGrey." The hostess eyed the reservations list, then the restaurant, a broad smile accenting her welcoming expression as she pointed to a table in the middle of the room. Rory smiled a thank-you and started toward the table with a dark-blond occupant, his back to her, obviously clad in a suit.

"Tristan." She tapped his shoulder awkwardly as she rose to his feet abruptly, flustered. He smiled, seeing who it was and, all problems forgotten, assaulted her with the most needy hug she'd been enveloped in, in a while. Pulling back with a sheepish smile, characteristically lacking shyness, he offered her a seat opposite his, pushing the decorative flowers to the side of the table.

"It's good to see you, Rory," he smiled. "When we said we'd keep in touch, we really were a couple of lying assholes, weren't we?"


	3. Divided

Chapter Three: **Divided**

Rory smiled at him hesitantly, wondering if he picked up any of the same imagery she had when seeing him after so long.

"Right," Tristan grinned, ducking his head in a nod as he received no response. "By golly, I swore near the virginal Mary; how could I have sinned so, my Lord, please tell me--Gah!"

Rory's smile turned wide and plastic as she kicked Tristan under the table. "Shut up. If anyone, _you_ should have the honor of _not_ calling me virginal, thank you very much."

She saw a flicker of the old Tristan when he smiled suggestively, clearly remembering a night of more than what one would call cautious love-making. Then his eyes dimmed as he looked down, and she wasn't sure what set off his defense mechanism, but it had and he was somehow back to polite and mannered.

"Yes, well," he opened the menu, looking at it far too studiously. "No sense in rehashing the past, right? Hmm... It all looks so... Well, I think I'll have the teriyaki chicken and some green tea, please. Oh--and an eggroll, light on the plum sauce."

The waitress, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, took down his order and directed her gaze toward Rory.

"Umm... Mongolian beef and some coffee, please," she smiled, handing her the menu. The waitress left, leaving the two companions without menus to falsely distract them from one another. Rory sensed that tension between them, especially since Tristan was quite subtly avoiding her gaze. "Tristan. _Tristan_."

"Hm?" he looked up.

"Do you want to..." she sighed. "Look, I know this is weird. We haven't seen each other since that night... and we both know that a hangover is not the best conversational aid in the world, so that didn't end well, but I'd like to think we can carry on a conversation now that we're older." She looked around, biting her lip. "And more mature."

Tristan looked at her, staring for a moment, before folding his napkin in his lap. "You're... right. Of course, you're right, Rory Gilmore."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Thank you." Another silence crept up onto the stale set of words resting in the air, waiting for new ones to replace them. "So--you wanted to talk to me about something. Something that's been bothering you. Something that's wrong. What's wrong?"

"I didn't want to talk to you about it," he corrected with a chuckle. "You penciled me in, as I remember."

"Well, you called me at four am on a Tuesday as I remember, so I sort of went on a hunch and figured that hey, something is going on with this guy--he's awake and dialing away at four am, waking people up with morbid phone calls like a modern-day Edgar Allen Poe, so I'm going to ask again." She eyed him seriously. "Tristan. What's going on?"

He looked down at the table cloth, fingering the red embroidery, then folded his napkin. Biting his lip, he unfolded it and seemed to concentrate on folding back into place, yet again. Finally, as Rory was about to speak, he dropped it on the table in front of him.

"Robin's pregnant." He expelled a deep breath, looking down and suddenly looking older and more dishieveled than he had a moment ago.

Rory's mouth opened in surprise, but she honestly had no idea what to say. She knew Robin was his daughter because she faintly knew of his college girlfriend and the fact that they were pretty serious, but she wasn't so close as to offer any advice or previous memories to console him. She just sat there, dumbfounded, hoping a broken Tristan would say something more to aide her in aiding him. She knew it sounded ridiculous, but it made sense to her.

Luckily, he came to her aide as he looked up.

"Robin's pregnant. And I don't know with whom or by whom, I just know she's pregnant and..."

* * *

"You can stop talking about the weather, Lee," Bobbey chuckled softly, clutching the phone to her ear. "It's not like I'm dying soon or anything." She paused. "At least not as far as I'm concerned. What do you know?"

"Shut up," Leah, Bobbey's friend of half a decade, snapped in response to her teasing. "It's just... weird, you know."

"I, more than anyone," Bobbey confirmed with a head nod.

"Well, yeah," Leah rolled her eyes and sighed into the phone. "I just--I know I'm supposed to be all supportive best friend but I don't know what to say, Bobbey. I don't." She expelled another breath, thankful her conversation partner hadn't said anything in response. "I want to tell you it's okay and stuff, but..."

"But it's not," Bobbey finished. "I know, Lee. I'm not... I'm not asking you to solve my problems for me with some Chinese proverb you found on a fortune cookie. I don't want you to tell me everything is going to be okay, because then you'd just be giving me false hope. Not even that," she smiled. "I'd know you were lying, and then we'd have to have a throwdown, and we both now how _those_ end between us."

Leah grinned. "Yeah. And I don't really want to beat up a pregnant girl, so..."

"Even withchild I could kick your ass, McAllister," Bobbey replied with a snort.

"Right," Leah smiled and looked down. Pregnancy was not something she was really comfortable joking about when it was her good friend on the end of the phone that was due to pop out a baby soon. She sighed and pulled at the comforter of her bed. "I don't mean to... but how's your dad about all this?"

"Oh, he's ecstatic. No, he's like one of those mothers in their mid-50s ready marry off their kid in exchange for a grandchild," Bobbey replied with more sarcasm than she thought necessary. Hearing her friend sniff subtly at her lack of serious thought on the subject, Bobbey pursed her lips and unscrewed a nailpolish tube. "He's stoic, Lee. It's weird. And he wants to know who the dad is."

Leah paused. "And... you're going to tell him, right?"

"Sure, Lee, I'm going to tell him I got knocked up by a loser college drop-out five years older than me at a party I went to when I told him I was sleeping over at your house?" She sighed. "Yeah, I didn't think it was a swell idea either."

"Did he threaten to like kill him and suck the life out of him in the most torturous, slow and vile means possible?" Leah asked.

Bobbey furrowed her brow as she swiped a line of nail lacquer on her toenail. "Yeah, actually. He went off on quite a tangent about it."

"Yeah, it's what my dad does when he sees my dishieveled date stumbling to my doorstep with me for my good-night kiss," she explained, then paused. "But, you know, it's probably four thousand times worse for you."

Bobbey stopped polishing. "Uh huh, yeah, I would have to agree." Sighing, she swept more of the sparkly pink lacquer on her toenails, chewing her lip silently as she thought of something that'd been bothering her. "Hey, Lee. If you--I mean, when you screw up in school and stuff or when you do something _really _parentally unacceptable, does your dad tell his friends about it?"

Leah scoffed. "What do you mean, _when_ I screw up?"

"Lee," Bobbey rationalized.

Leah sighed. "Um, not really. My mom does, though; big time. She doesn't tell me outright that she's telling all her friends, but it's like a goddamn network between mothers if you ask me. She tells them about my report cards, my dates, she told them about that time in Tijuana--which _I_ never even told her about but somehow got in trouble for." She paused glare in the direction of her mother's bedroom before reaching for the bag of chips on her nighttable. "Nothing is sacred between you and the parents, Bobbey. I'm serious." She padded down the carpeted stairs to her living room. "Why? Did something happen?"

Bobbey bit her bottom lip again. "Well, my dad brought this... girl home yesterday."

"Girl," Leah repeated thoughtfully. "Toddler, adolscent, mid-forties, what are we talking here?"

Bobbey rolled her eyes. "Oh, you know, in the Driving Miss Daisy range."

"Egh," Leah responded. "Unless you're not serious. Which you're not. You know, you're wasting my minutes, Robin, you could at least deal out your problems without a proportionate sarcasm ratio."

"You're telling me to change who I am to be with you?" Bobbey answered dramatically, shaking her head. "That simply just can't be."

"I'm setting a time limit."

"And I thought you loved me for who I was..."

"Fourteen minutes, forty-four seconds left, and counting."

"And my personality meant nothing..."

"So your dad brought home an eighty-year-old woman with a personal driver," Leah sighed.

"I'd say she was around her early thirties," Bobbey replied, remembering the strange brunette that penetrated the boundary of her threshold yesterday.

"Pretty?"

Bobbey scrunched up her nose. "That depends on who she is to my dad."

Leah lifted a brow. "You suspect she's _somebody_ more than an acquaintance?"

"How the hell should I know? I've never seen this woman in my life before yesterday and I really didn't have time to objectively observe their relationship."

"Stormed to your room in the middle of dinner, huh?" Leah guessed, a knowing smile forming on her face.

Bobbey went to shake her head no but realized her friend couldn't see her. "The steak was dry."

"Right," Leah agreed. "Let's say she's your dad's hippie, foul-mannered animal rights activist friend that had followed him home from a rally he just happened to pass. Who's lesbian."

"Huh?" Bobbey tried to picture the get-up on the woman she met yesterday with difficulty.

"How pretty would she be then?"

"Oh. Well. Definitely the hottest animal-rights slob I've ever met," Bobbey admitted, recalling the woman's appearance. "She's got this porcelain doll look going for her. Shocking blue eyes, pale skin--not pasty. Very sheik."

Leah chuckled. "And if she was your dad's very straight new secretary?"

"Lee, I would never attack that very sad, desperate innocent schoolgirl-looking whore no matter who she was to my dad," Bobbey replied through gritted teeth.

"I see," her friend laughed, the sound dwindling to a chuckle as she heard very unhappy grunts from the other line. "Fine, okay. I'm stopping. I just don't see what this woman has to do with you. If he just brought her over for dinner, then I'm sorry to say, she probably _is_ a dat--"

"Don't say it," Bobbey warned. "Just don't even go there. Besides, I heard them say my name just as she was leaving. Why would they talk about the daughter when the two of them are on a... _social gathering event."_

Sighing, her friend shouldered the phone. "Look, honey, I don't know what's it's like to be in your situation. And I especially don't know how someone's dad would react to that, but if you ask me, I think he's just looking for someone to talk to. And…" she hesitated, "you are, too. And you'd be better off talking to each other than to some uninvolved friends like you're doing now."

"Lee--"

"Bobbey, I have to go," Leah concluded pointedly. "My dad's freaking out about my quarter grades. I'll see you tomorrow, granted I'm alive."

Sighing, Bobbey looked at the phone, hearing her friend's phone click as it hung up. "Bye."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

So, I wanted to say thank you to everyone who reviewed so far. Glad you guys like the story. On that note, I tried to update a couple of days ago but every time I tried to log in, the server was down or some crap like that so if I don't update for a while, sometimes it's not because I'm a lazy asshole that doesn't finish stuff. Sometimes it's because is a lazy asshole.

Love you. Review.


	4. Treasure

Chapter 4: **Treasure**

_Your pressure on my lips  
Your grasp on my fingertips  
Keeps me waiting on the boundary... of Earth and fire _

_Your traipsing in my dreams  
You seem more than you seem  
But my love overpowers my... incessant ire_

Rory smiled. The soft music enveloped her arms and neck as she drowned in the meek melody playing about the background. "I love this song."

Tristan lifted a brow. "You do not. Please tell me you're kidding."

Rory opened an eye from her relaxed reclining state on the outdoor patio. "I don't know. It's twisted and bittersweet and stuff, I know. But there's something about it... maybe the melody, I just..."

The blond across from her licked his lips in amazement. "Rory. The man beat his wife most of the time and then ran to his mistress for the pleasure his wife was shockingly with-holding. That is this song."

"I know," she grinned. "It's terrible, but it's got such a nice beat and trumpet in tune with the music. It's almost romantic, but right on that boundary."

Tristan stared at her blue eyes before her lids claimed the view of them once more as she closed her eyes, enjoying the music. "Unless of course you listen to the words. Then it's simply a power ballad for your amateur serial killer." Rory's eyes snapped open.

"Well if you want to be objective about it..." Her grin faded as she heard the front door of house shut followed by shoes clicking on the tiled entryway. "Is that Robin?"

Tristan rubbed his eyes wearily. "Not too many of my friends slam the door that hard in hopes that the house will crumble and crush me beneath an extra heavy beam."

Rory smiled sympathetically. "Is she… I mean, are you guys talking right now? After that night she told you, I figured she'd open up a bit more—"

"Rory, you really haven't interacted with the modern-day teenager lately," he replied swiftly. "I sense that from your very logical, very naïve view on how they work."

"Really?" Rory took a sip of her tea. "It's just not something you said that you failed to tell me?"

Tristan raised his eyebrows as she sighed at him exasperatedly.

"Come on, Tristan. I know you. You're so protective of your daughter," she said, then instantly added, "not that it's a bad thing, of course. Unless…"

"Unless what? I'm protective of Robin and there's an 'unless'?" he inquired.

Rory licked her lips and looked behind her toward the house. "I just…" She paused, then shook her head. "Never mind. You know, I'm so not the right person to talk to about this. I—I have no experience being pregnant myself let alone having a child that's pregnant." She glanced as Tristan whose eyes were steadily losing hope shining within them. "Not that you should give up, you know? I'm here for you," she placed a hand over his.

He smiled a small smile. "Thank you."

"However," Rory added.

He grinned. "However?"

"However," she repeated, then paused. "Well, I think you should try talking to her again. It's no use for us to sit here talking about her as though she has no say in this. It's her life, Tristan."

"I know it's her life," he cut in angrily. "If it wasn't her life—if I controlled her life like she claims I do, she would have never ended up pregnant at sixteen!"

They sat in silence for a moment as Rory waited for the blond across from her to calm down. "You should talk to her," she repeated, despite the eye roll Tristan was sending her way. "I know it sounds stupid and that you've already done that, but... come on. Trust me." She smiled a reassuring smile. "I promise."

Tristan sighed. "And if it doesn't work?"

"She's a _person_, Tristan. Your daughter, more accurately. You don't just give up. Plus, there isn't one right answer, you know? Talking to her may make no difference today but it could make all the difference tomorrow." Rory licked her lips and rubbed small circles into Tristan's palm. "I know this…" she grinned, "well, it _sucks_. But not talking to her is like making things worse. For both of you."

He grimaced. "You know, it's easy bringing up theories and shooting them at me. You've no idea that you're simply the advisor to a very dangerous, very risky and highly disturbed job that is being a parent."

"_Finally_, someone put into words what it's like on the other side," a cheery voice gave way from the back gate as it was pushed open.

Tristan stood up, his brow furrowing. "Um, Rory…"

She smiled sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind, but in the spirit of communicating and being the not helpful advisor to Superman… I called for reinforcements." Tristan's eyebrow remained raised. "What? Can you think of anyone _else_ better to identify with Robin right now than my mom?"

* * *

Bobbey stared at the two woman, plus her dad, all sitting in the kitchen with hot mugs of coffee wrapped in their fingers, quietly discussing something she knew probably wasn't for her ears.

The new woman, the one she _hadn't _yet met even for a brief moment, seemed to have some sort of relation to the her father's original consultant, down to the porcelain-like skin, blue eyes, and deep brown hair.

She had a sort of style and grace about her, less obvious like the younger woman because of her forthright spirit and energy, but still enough to embrace a sense of composure and a firm grasp on things all around her.

Grabbing her coat, Bobbey decided she didn't like her.

"Robin, I'd--" Tristan began, before his brow furrowed at her outerwear. A second later, Bobbey interrupted his thought anyway.

"I'm going to Cara's," she said briefly, eyeing the strange woman at the table again, before hooking her index finger into the chain of her keys and pulling them off the hallway hook. "Bye."

"Not bye, Robin," her father countered, putting down his mug. "You didn't ask me earlier. And I've never met Cara; I don't even know who she is. You expect me to just let you go?"

Bobbey licked her lips slowly, looking away, then pinning her father with a stone cold stare. "You _have_ met her, _dad._ And I did ask you before. I believe your exact words were, 'Sure, sweets, just give me a ring when you get there.'" She through her purse over her shoulder. "Considering you didn't bother to look, I just _assumed_ you were talking to me and not the client on the phone."

Sighing, Tristan gave a weary smile to Rory and Lorelai, both of them looking slightly uncomfortable at intruding, though completely unsurprised by his daughter. He motioned to them, rubbing a hand over his face. "Before you go, I want you to meet Lorelai, Rory's mother. Lorelai, this is my daughter Robin."

_Bobbey, she forcefully corrected in her mind, but held her tongue and took the woman's outstretched hand cautiously, shaking it for a mere moment before letting it go._

"Hi," she broke into a wide, toothy smile. "Tristan and Rory have told me so much about you. It's nice to meet you, Robin."

Bobbey smiled tightly. "And I've heard nothing about _you_, Lorelai. Still… fabulous to meet you." She turned slightly, eyes narrowing. "I thought _you_ were Lorelai, anyway."

Rory smiled sheepishly. "I am. But people just call me Rory."

Bobbey nodded. "How nice for people," she shot back before turning around and opening the front door. "I'll be back." And with that she left.

Tristan stood, ready to run after her. "She didn't say when, damn it."

Lorelai smiled sympathetically, leaning toward Tristan. "I think the fact that she said she'd be back at all should cherished."

"_Mom_," Rory glared, "what is that? Parent logic?" She turned to Tristan and took his hand in hers as he sat. "I'm sorry."

He smiled slightly. "Don't be. She just went out, right? And Lorelai's right, at least she promised to be back in my lifetime." He frowned. "Or maybe she meant her's."

Rory eyed her mother angrily again. "My mom is _not_ right--"

"I beg to differ," Lorelai retorted, frowning over the rim of her cup as she sipped.

"Look," Rory continued, as though her mom never spoke, "it's hard enough dealing with this without us barging in and--and upsetting Robin. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was…"

"No," Tristan smiled. "Robin's always upset. She's a teenager. Even happy's not a fully joyous state."

* * *

"I can't _believe_ you," Rory whispered, shivering as they loaded into the Jeep. "I--Why would you do that in there? Can't you see he's completely lost control of his daughter and I brought you to help him and you discourage him."

"Rory, I wasn't going to _lie_ to him," Lorelai retorted indignantly. "Being a parent is hard and sometimes it sucks. It's that--it's what he's going through back there and I _was_ going to help him by talking to Robin, but evidently she's off to be back at an unknown hour."

"Oh yeah, mom. You have experience raising pregnant teenagers who stomp off with major attitude at night, off to who knows where," Rory rolled her eyes, staring at the road as her mom backed out of the DuGrey driveway.

"First of all," the elder Gilmore snapped, "you were not half bad at the stomping away with major attitude act, missy. I'll have you know, you pretty much perfected it, come college." At Rory's huff, the Gilmore continued. "And second, of _course_ I have experience dealing with kids like that. I _was_ one. _That_ was me. Only worse. I would have never _actually_ met my parents' friends without some sort of catastrophe or another."

Sighing, Rory looked at the passing houses on the street through the passenger's seat window. "I… I know, I just… I just want to help him, mom."

Lorelai looked over at her daughter, deep in thought. "I know, babe."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ It's all the pre-written chapters I had. From now on, I'll be upating from scratch. You guys should be very angry right now because it means I'll be updating a whole lot slower. Plus I've got the education to worry about. Meh.

-Beach


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